


The Inescapable Us

by vtn



Category: Matthew Good Band
Genre: Multi, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-26
Updated: 2007-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-17 16:23:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/553537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vtn/pseuds/vtn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt shows up at the doorstep of an old friend and experiences a few different kinds of silence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Inescapable Us

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I know this is totally crack. For those not 'in the know', Tamara Taggart is a Canadian news anchor and married to Dave Genn. :3

It's one of the most confounding things he's ever done, Matt thinks. He's been expecting difficult, he's been expecting having to take two steps back and breathe deeply and knead the door with his fist before he can knock on it. What confounds him is it's easier than that.

He walks up to the door and rings the doorbell. When Dave answers, looking comfortable in worn jeans and t-shirt and stocking feet, it's like every other time Matt showed up at his house uninvited. Never mind that it's been five years.

"Hi," Matt says.

"Hi," says Dave. "What's going on?" Dave has aged gracefully. Matt would like to say the same about himself, but he knows he looks almost nothing like he did the last time Dave saw him. He's cut his hair differently, he's gained weight, and he's wearing a button-down shirt and khakis. It's the same as every day, but he's suddenly a little self-conscious.

"Not too much. Same old." Dave steps aside and Matt walks in through the threshold. "Nice place." Yeah, nice place. You could fit about ten or fifteen of Matt's apartment in this house. Everything looks like it came out of one of those house and garden magazines Jen had subscriptions to and left conveniently open on coffee tables.

"I wish I could say I did this, but it's all Tamara," says Dave, laughing. _Right, Tamara. He's married_ , Matt reminds himself. "Well, I picked some of the colors. It was like being five years old again and picking the paints for finger painting. You know, 'I like this blue one', 'No, it's a little too vibrant,' 'Well, all right, but I don't want it to be like, _grey_.'" He flops down on one of those perfect couches that look like they came right off the showroom floor. "Come on, sit down."

Matt does and grins. Maybe this will be easy—it has been so far. There are memories ghosting around the two of them like those tiny flies you can hardly see, but if he can just convince himself that those things are over and done with…. That, and if he can just convince himself that Dave isn't doing the exact same thing. Then he can forget. They can just be old friends.

"So what about you?" Dave asks, folding his hands behind his head. How's the music going? And you've been healthy and everything, right?" Matt wants to laugh in Dave's face but resists.

"It's been up and down, as always," he says, sliding into the sentence like it's tailored to him. "Had a pretty messy divorce a few months back, but you know, it's kind of a relief being here on the other side. I'm still pissed she won't change her name back, but I think she'll figure out she can't get VIP passes out of it and give it up eventually." It's not a total lie. He does dream it, on occasion.

"What's her name? Do I know her? The girls you used to date were always so—"

"Her name?" Matt fumbles with the button on his sleeve, trying to get it out before Dave cuts back in and tells him exactly what he thinks the girls Matt always used to date were. "It was, uh."

"Come on." Dave shakes his head, blowing air out his nose. A cat materializes from somewhere behind the couch and curls around his legs. "If you say what I think you're about to say—"

"It was Jennifer." There's a pause and Matt can't help but fill it. "Jen. That was, uh, what she went by—Jen."

"Oh." Dave is quiet even longer.

Matt starts remembering, then, how these pauses used to get filled. He can't stop the rush of images: Dave cupping Matt's face in his hands, running his thumbs along Matt's cheekbones; Dave, padding along the floor on hands and knees, pushing up Matt's shirt with his nose, eyes wide and expectant. It's fuzzy and dreamlike, in Matt's head.

"Tell me about Tamara," Matt says. He already knows about Tamara a little bit, of course—and he knew they were married; he saw the magazines, caught glimpses of the to-do on TV and heard Jen talk about it. (He tried to ensure Jen didn't figure out who Dave Genn was, in relation to Matt anyway. It wasn't in anyone's best interest, he'd decided back then.)

"She's…" Dave picks up the cat and scratches it behind the ears. "I don't have to tell you. She'll be home in a few minutes and you can see for yourself. I think you'll get along. She's walking the dog right now—you're a dog guy, aren't you?" Matt laughs out loud.

"Oh come on, of course I am, you can't have forgotten that already. But okay. You won't tell me about your wife, at least tell me about the band."

"It's great," says Dave, usual stupid grin on his face. The one thing Matt has to give him credit for is that even at the end, according to Dave, it was all going to get better and be the same again. And so, Matt guesses, it did. The same story as before, just with different names and less fighting and probably less time in hospitals, too. "You're still doing music—I know you are."

"I'm taking the day off from recording as we speak," Matt says, smiling back. At least he has this to brag about.

The door opens and Tamara comes in, holding the dog by its leash and wearing a green sweater and looking exactly the way she does onscreen. The dog's nails click on the floor and it bounds toward Matt, who scratches it behind the ears and laughs as it tries to lick him. Once the dog has finally calmed down, Matt sees Dave and Tamara kiss.

"Tamara, this is Matt," Dave says. "We played in a band together a few years ago." She looks at him, brow knotted.

"Well, of course you did." She turns to Matt, smiling. "Matthew Good, in the flesh! I've heard plenty of things." Wonderful, she's heard plenty of things. Matt takes her hand and shakes it, feeling manicured nails under his fingers.

"I'm sure Dave has an endless well of stories," he says, a little tentatively.

"Well, yes, that," Tamara says, and there's a miniscule twitch in her eye—Matt wouldn't have even noticed if he hadn't been looking for it. "And I love 'Weapon'."

"Thanks." It's all he can say.

"Dave?" Tamara says, turning. "Do I—how should I…? It's just, I've never." She smoothes her sweater. "Do you want me to get anything?"

"Don't worry about it," Dave says, and even though he's turned away from Matt, Matt can hear the confusion he knows is knitted into Dave's face. "If we get hungry, I'll just grab something from the fridge. Sandwiches or something." Silence again. Matt delegates to himself the job of filling it.

"Hey," he starts, shakily, "Not to interrupt, but I just remembered I had a question about guitars and how you got a sound, way long ago so you probably don’t even remember, but there was something I was trying to do the other day, and it was—" Dave doesn't miss his cue, interrupts smoothly.

"Sure, just come upstairs. I have all my guitars and effects pedals and crap, and I'm sure I can figure out whatever it was." He turns back to Matt, looking grateful.

"All right, I'll leave you two alone then," Tamara says with a tiny, tight smile. Matt breathes a sigh of relief. It's not that he minds her; it's just that when she's not around he doesn't feel like he's interfering.

They walk up the stairs—and oh God, stairs, Matt remembers when he had stairs and it seems so far away now—and into Dave's room where he keeps, true to his word, 'all his guitars and effects pedals and crap'. They stand there, each one opening his mouth to speak a few times before Matt manages to.

"Are we even going to pretend to talk about guitars?" he says.

"Look," says Dave, "I don't want to do this. Yes, Tamara knows that—"

"I didn't say I had any problem with Tamara knowing anything."

And he doesn't have any problem with it. Because when he thinks about it, if Tamara knows everything about Matt and Dave's fucked-up mess of a relationship, if Tamara knows about calls in the middle of the night and hospital visits and the way Dave liked to be fucked slow and deep with his eyes closed and just barely biting his lip—even if she knows all the tiny details, it would have been Dave telling Tamara something about himself. It wouldn't be Dave spilling the dirt on Matt. It wouldn’t be anger, because that's never been how Dave shows his anger. He's not like Matt in that respect. If he has nothing to gain from telling his wife that, oh yeah, he and Matt Good used to fuck like rabbits, it's not this incriminating, blackmail thing. It's just another thing about Dave Genn that maybe the woman he loves ought to know.

The problem is how painful it was watching her watch him, realizing she probably knew too much about him and had about a hundred reasons to hate him. A hundred valid reasons, too.

"The fact is I'm really not completely sure why you came here," says Dave slowly as he picks at a callus on his thumb. "I kind of figured when you were done, you were done, and you weren't going to offer an apology or accept one from me."

"Dave," says Matt. He realizes it's the first time either of them has used names. They stand still for another minute and then—Matt isn't sure which one of them started it but they're kissing, and Dave's hand is reaching up to tangle in his hair, still memorized, still familiar, like nothing's changed at all.

"We can't do this, can we?" says Matt, laughing nervously, when he breaks away. "I really wish I didn't fucking want to so much."

"What the hell," says Dave. "It's been a long damn time and you still kiss exactly the damn same." There's another silence threatening to build, but Dave starts craning up to kiss Matt again and it becomes comfortable. They both know when to part.

"Should we go—"

"This way," says Dave, and they're down the hall and in a room with a bed, which looks so _nice_ Matt's almost afraid to touch it but then Dave is lowering him onto the comforter and Dave's hands are on his chest, Dave's hands are running over his hips, he's getting hard, there is no going back. "Matt I fucking missed you. I want to—I want to suck your cock, I want to make you come again. It's been so damn long."

Dave's married, Matt can't help but think. This is the bed Tamara sleeps in. She decorated this room, picked out the comforter. She's in the pictures on the dresser.

Matt, however, has nothing to lose, and fucking hell he missed this too.

He unzips his pants, lets Dave pull them down to his ankles the same as he always did. Dave's mouth is hot around him, and a shiver runs through Matt when Dave runs his tongue along Matt's head. He runs his hand through Dave's hair, wishing fervently that he can keep this—this instead of everything he hated about Dave once, this instead of everything he hates about himself.

Dave moves one hand to Matt's knee and the other to the inside of his thigh, running it slowly upward until his nails are gently teasing at Matt's shaft, making Matt gasp and tighten his hand in Dave's hair. His eyelids falling shut, Matt leans back and sighs as Dave works him with his tongue.

"Dave, will this be all right?" he hears Tamara saying, through his daze.

It takes him a moment before it hits him, and then his breath gets fast, his chest goes tight, his ears burn. He looks up, scattered explanations buttoning together in his head and at the back of his throat.

She's standing there, smiling hesitantly and wearing nothing but a white silk slip.

"Oh," says Matt, and Dave slides his mouth off of Matt's dick with a soft wet sound.

"Tamara, I was never asking you to do this. I didn't want—I mean, I didn't even think this would happen. He showed up, but this was my fault and I…" Dave gestures futilely in the air.

"You…but I thought…" Tamara looks at the floor. "If you want me to leave I'll leave, but I think after that maybe Matt should go and I…" She shifts.

"I just," Dave stammers, "I just need five minutes more with Matt—I won't finish this up, this was stupid of me and like I said it's all my fault. I just need to say goodbye and wrap this up—it's been so many years. Tamara, I never thought you'd think that's what I meant. We weren't even going to do this. I swear."

"No, no, I'll leave now." Matt gets up from the bed, listening to the springs creak under him, and starts to do his pants back up. He's still painfully hard, he's now just painfully embarrassed too.

He starts toward the door, fighting off the panic in the pit of his stomach. "I'm so fucking sorry," he says softly to Tamara or maybe to Dave or to himself.

"Wait," Tamara says. Matt pauses, hand on his belt buckle.

He shakes his head. "No, I'll just go." He swallows, trying to look her in the eye. "I know we're a disaster, Dave and I. We always have been, it's idiotic to think we wouldn't always be. Really I'm just the part that's unwanted and it's easy enough for me to—"

"You aren't getting it. This doesn't _have_ to be a disaster." She lifts his hand, pressing it against her chest, wrapping his fingers around one of her breasts. "I want this. I've been wanting it." Her nipples are hard, catching on the thin silk when Matt moves his hand even the smallest fraction of an inch.

She lets him.

And she's beautiful, and Matt hasn't had a beautiful woman want him in a long time. He lets his hands roam, running them along her stomach and feeling her shiver under his touch. Dave is behind her then, sliding the fabric slowly up her legs, exposing soft, white skin. He gives Matt a look to say, yes, we're doing this and this is happening.

Matt brushes his lips against Tamara's and finds her kissing him back, wrapping her hands around his waist and sliding his pants back down. Dave works a finger into Tamara and she swallows, moans just the tiniest bit. Matt kisses her again, moving down to breathe on her neck and pressing his head close to hears to hear the tiny noises Dave is coaxing from her.

There's silence again and they're still and frozen. Then they break, Dave rushing to a drawer for condoms and then joining Matt and Tamara on the bed. Dave slides the condom over Matt's dick with one smooth motion of his fist and then unbuttons Matt's shirt, while Tamara undresses Dave. Soon Tamara's the only one dressed and Matt slips his hand between her legs, feeling warm and wet through the fabric and rubbing, making her shake and tense around him.

Dave cups his mouth around Matt's ear and whispers "I want to fuck you while you're fucking her."

"More," Matt whines, half-involuntarily.

"I want you to move for me, I want you to have to catch your breath, and I want you to keep doing what you're doing to Tamara." He groans low in his throat, making Matt's stomach twist pleasantly. "Matt, I want you tight around me; I want to do to you what you're already doing to me."

Matt lifts the slip over Tamara's head and lets her press into his chest, soft and warm against him.

"This is what you want," he whispers to her, for confirmation.

"Of course it's what I want. I swear. I want you inside of me—look." She laughs, eyelids fluttering. "I'm so attracted to you. It's what I want."

Matt parts Tamara's legs with his hand and slides into her, slow and easy. She hooks one leg around his and rocks on him. And then Dave is working himself into Matt, and Matt doesn't know what to think or who to look at. He just moves with both of them, fits himself in between them, stealing kisses from Tamara when he can and hissing at the feeling of Dave's teeth and hot breath on the back of his neck.

Tamara tightens around him, groans in the back of her throat. Digging those perfect fingernails into Matt's sides, she pulls him closer, deeper into her, and he thrusts his hips harder to accommodate. She comes again, closing her eyes and looking so flushed and gorgeous that in combination with Dave's dick inside him it brings Matt over the edge. And he does have to catch his breath.

He lets Dave keep moving inside him until he comes too, and then they lie there, all three exhausted and taking deep breaths. This is Matt's favorite silence of them all.

"You know this is already sort of a disaster," says Dave with a tone of voice that implies it's anything but.

"I think that was all it was ever supposed to be," Matt says, firmly deciding it was ridiculous even to use the word 'disaster' in the first place.

Dave has one hand resting on Matt's stomach and the other one entangled with one of Tamara's. Whatever this is, it's not the same and it's even more complicated, but it will do.


End file.
